Baptism of Fire Read Online Free Page B

the yardarm and tickle me …’ Jenkins rubbed his hands together with pleasure. A warning frown from Hannah stopped him, mid-sentence. While Jenkins’ outbursts were amusing and witty, they were occasionally scandalous and Hannah feared that her uncle’s sense of humour would not stretch that far.
    Scattered conversation began, and Hannah returned to the small cookhouse to check that everything had been taken inside. As Merelitahanded her a plate with yet more fruit, oranges this time, Hannah noticed she had half a finger missing. Merelita slid her fingers beneath the plate.
    â€˜What happened to your finger?’ It was rude to ask but Hannah couldn’t resist.
    Merelita thrust the plate forward and shrugged. Hannah waited. Sometimes a silence could persuade confidences where further questions would fail.
    With short, quick motions Merelita made sawing actions with the side of her hand.
    Hannah felt faint. ‘It was … cut off?’
    The Fijian girl nodded.
    â€˜Why? Was it infected?’ Hannah remembered that back home an old man on a nearby farm had his leg amputated because it had begun to rot. They needn’t have bothered, because he died anyway.
    â€˜Father.’ Merelita pointed to the ground and Hannah knew all too well what that gesture meant. ‘When he die … cut. Everyone.’ As she spoke, Merelita showed her shortened forefinger, then lifted a lock of hair which dangled over herforehead. Her meaning was plain. Cutting hair as a sign of mourning was one thing, but amputating digits …?
    Gripped by morbid curiosity, Hannah whispered as though that disguised the question. ‘What do they do with the fingers?’
    Merelita looked upwards.
    Even as she spoke, Hannah felt foolish. ‘You put them on the roof?’
    The Fijian girl smiled. ‘Yes. Many fingers on roof. Show what is in here.’ She gestured to her chest.
    Surely there were other, less painful, ways of displaying grief. ‘But what if you have many people in your family who die?’
    Merelita held up both hands, then folded down the tops of her remaining fingers at the knuckles.
    â€˜I … I see.’ Hannah wanted to ask what happened when they ran out of fingers, but resisted. Now might be a good time to change the subject. ‘Are you coming inside with me?’
    Merelita shook her head.
    Somehow, as the girl turned, her hand knocked Hannah’s plate to the floor. Orange slices andbroken china were scattered across the mats.
    Hands clasped to her mouth, Merelita rolled her eyes.
    Hannah remembered the crash she’d heard earlier and Joshua’s words ‘she breaks things’. She touched the other girl gently on the wrist. ‘It’s all right. I’ll fix it. No one will know.’
    Quickly, Hannah retrieved the fruit, rinsed it with a scoop of water from the barrel and replaced the slices on another plate. With the crockery shards in her hands, she crept from the cookhouse into the gathering darkness to hide the evidence under a leafy bush.

A mosquito whined insistently, but Hannah dared not wave her hand during grace. She wriggled her face then gently shook her head, hoping that movement would discourage attack.
    Uncle Henry’s passionate ‘Amen’ coincided with a loud slap. Jenkins brushed at his cheek with a weathered hand, then examined the tips of his fingers. ‘Blood, by gum. ’E’s bit someone already.’ Instinctively, everyone searched for telltale spots.
    A cold look from the head of the family did nothing to quell Jenkins. ‘Them mosquitoes is as big as sharks.’
    Hannah stifled a smile. The chinking of plates and clanging of cutlery was a familiar, comforting sound. The Chief didn’t bother with either. But it did seem ridiculously formal to eat fruit with utensils. She scanned the faces around her and wondered at being here when only this morning she had still been on the ketch. Only a few hours